Barrow Fields i don't fly around your fire anymore

the crunch of snow caused the sylph to freeze, her hackles already lifted in surprise -- stiffly the corne turned around, her lambent yellow gaze focusing on a small, scarred sylph of pearl white. the scent of drageda was heavy on her pelt and caiaphas flared outward like an enraged harpy, every piece of fur bladed and on end as she watched the vixen approach.

she would allow no such advancement; a guttural snarl bubbled in her throat and she hissed between mounds of moss. "the fuck are you doing?" she could smell no other wolf in the premises, but she refused to let her guard down -- particularly not when the enemy was so close.